


A Good Listener

by enigmaticagentscully



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/pseuds/enigmaticagentscully
Summary: a little sort of kabby drabble thing I wrote because I have a lot of feelings about Marcus hanging out with his mother’s tree
(cross-posted from my tumblr)





	

The place where the Eden tree is planted isn’t far from the Arkadia camp, but far enough that Marcus always feels vaguely guilty about going there. The trip feels like something of a pilgrimage, which he doesn’t know quite how to feel about, and he knows his time could be better used in a hundred different ways.

But today he has the time, albeit not much of it, and he has... _purpose_ , of a kind. So here he is, and as he approaches he feels the familiar wave of relief to see that the tree is still there where he left it. He kneels down beside it, presses his hands gently against the earth that surrounds the base of the trunk, reassuring himself that it’s firmly rooted. Then he sits back and just looks at it for a while, unsure how to begin. No matter how many times he comes here, it’s always like this at first.

The tree itself looks healthy enough, but terribly small and fragile, surrounded as it is by the rest of the forest. Marcus can’t help but wonder if it will survive the first frost, which must be coming any day now. He should probably ask someone back at camp who knows about that sort of thing, but somehow he hasn’t been able to bring himself to do it. In spite of what it originally meant, the Eden tree has become something personal, private in a way he can’t quite justify. He isn’t particularly comfortable reminding anyone else of its existence.

At least it didn’t die in the first few days after having been planted – that’s an encouraging sign even to someone who knows as little about horticulture as he does. Marcus has been half worried that whatever diseases have evolved down on the ground after the tree’s long separation from its home would kill it almost immediately. That sort of thing is a particularly pressing concern right at the moment.

In fact, maybe that’s as good a place to start as any.

“There’s been an outbreak of flu at the camp,” he says, his voice sounding over-loud and strangely invasive in the chill, empty air. “Or at least what we assume is flu...some kind of bug, anyway. Not fatal so far, but not good either.” He pauses. No sense in being pessimistic, after all. “But we’re handling it. It just means about a quarter of the camp is bed-ridden at any given time, and we could do with having more beds as it is. Medical is swamped. Abby’s being run ragged, but you know her, she won’t rest herself until she’s sure everyone else is taken care of.”

He hesitates. Feels his fingers curl almost into fists, resting on his knees. His breath puffs out soft clouds into the cold air.

“I’m in love with her,” he says quietly.

There’s a long silence, in which the words seem to hang there, expectant. Marcus finds he’s at a loss for anything else to say, half appalled at himself for saying it aloud at all, and half embarrassed at having said it to...well, essentially, to a tree.

At that moment a bird startles out of a nearby bush, with a sharp cry and a clatter of wings. Marcus jumps so violently at the sound he almost topples backwards, but in a few moments after he’s righted himself he starts to chuckle, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look. How ridiculous the whole _thing_ is. After everything he’s been through in the past few months, he can hardly believe that _this_ is what’s giving him sleepless nights.

“I’m in love with her,” he repeats, still grinning, and it comes more easily the second time, a comforting assurance in repetition. “I thought _someone_ should know,” he explains to the tree. “And, well...who are _you_ going to tell?”

The tree shows all the signs of being a sympathetic audience, so he continues.

“It’s probably a really bad idea,” he says, trying to keep his voice as light as possible even as his good humour slips a little at the admission. “It’s probably one of the worst mistakes I’ve made recently, which is saying a lot. At least this time it really _was_ something out of my control.” He sighs. Now is not the time or the place to give in to self-reproach. It’s important to try and stay objective about the situation. “Anyway, it would only make things more difficult for Abby if she knew,” he says. “And things are difficult enough already.”

That’s close enough to the truth, and at least doesn’t make him sound like the complete and total coward he rather suspects he is. The good thing about such a one-sided conversation is that there’s no-one to call you out on your bullshit.

“So I think that’s it, as far as that’s concerned,” he says, trying to convince himself as much as anyone. “It doesn’t have to change anything.” He feels a small smile creep back onto his face. “I know _you’d_ have been happy to know all this though. You always liked her.”

He reaches out, brushes the edge of the little tree lightly with his fingertips.

“I wish you could have seen it down here, Mom. It really is beautiful. Things are... _better_ down here, in spite of everything.” He pauses. “Maybe I’m biased on that though. I know they say love is blind, but honestly I feel like I see more now than I ever have before.”

Marcus considers that last sentence for a moment and winces, glad that there isn’t anyone around to hear him say something so... _poetic_. He can only imagine his mother’s face if she really were standing in front of him now as he spoke to her.

The thought brings a sharp pang of grief. Even if she laughed at him for being so sentimental – not that she of all people ever _would_ – he wouldn’t mind if it meant she could be here with him. Vera Kane believed in the dream of Earth more than most, and it was a cruel irony for her to die just days before her people finally made it down. Marcus feels as if they’re missing something important without her here; not just him personally, but all of them. He wishes he could tell her that too.

In truth, he doesn’t know if he believes the dead can hear anything after they’re gone, if the dead even _are_ anything after they’re gone. But his mother believed it, and maybe that’s what really matters.

“I should be getting back,” he says, all too aware that this is how most conversations with his mother ended on the Ark as well. “There’s a lot of work to be done.”

He stands up, dusting off his knees, but hesitates before moving away. Stupid really; it isn’t as if it actually matters how close he is to the tree. It isn’t as if it’s the tree he’s really talking to. But speaking here feels _right_ somehow, less like a shout into the void.

“I’ll...talk to someone at camp about the frost,” he says, haltingly. “Maybe I can rig something up or...” He sighs. “I’ll try to keep the tree alive as long as I can, Mom. I promise.”

He knows the tree can’t possibly be aware of his presence in the first place, but it still sort of feels as if it’s watching him as he walks away.


End file.
